Marianna (27 page)

The four of them spent a few minutes chatting in her office, over glasses of Bual and pieces of dark, treacly
bolo de mel
cake. Though Marianna had schooled herself to remain composed, she nevertheless found it difficult not to betray the tension she felt in Jacinto’s presence. She expressed a few words of sympathy over Lucia’s mother’s poor health, trusting that Dona Catarina was not missing their company too much this afternoon.

‘No, that is not the case, Dona Marianna. Mama needs to have a great deal of rest and quiet these days.’ A faint smile stole across Lucia’s young face. ‘She says that she enjoys my company, but not the noise I make.’

‘You may make as much noise here as you jolly well like,’ Dick put in with a laugh. ‘This mausoleum needs a bit of livening up.’

From the very outset, the tour was in Dick’s hands. With affectionate amusement, Marianna noticed how much her son enjoyed a chance to show off his knowledge, quite unaware that Jacinto was fully cognizant of the various wine-making processes. Lucia was clearly much impressed that this young man, who was little more than her own age, could expound with such airy authority upon microscopic organisms called saccharomyces and the Baume scale used to measure the natural sugar content of the grapes; upon how, for sweeter Bual and Malmsey wines, fermentation was stopped by the addition of brandy, while for the dry Verdelhos and Sercials, spirits were added at a later stage.

They progressed into one of the
estufa
rooms, a long, shadowed chamber where the new wine underwent heat treatment extending over a period of many months in order to attain the proper degree of maturity.

‘At one time,’ Dick enlarged, ‘Madeira wine used to be sent on a sea voyage to the Indies and back, for the sake of its health. Did you know that?’

Lucia glanced uneasily at her father j unsure whether or not she was being teased. But Jacinto made no comment.

‘That’s perfectly true,’ Marianna confirmed. ‘It was found that the flavour of Madeira wine was greatly improved by a prolonged sea voyage. According to one story this discovery was made quite by chance, when marauding pirates prevented a shipment from being delivered and it had to be brought back to Madeira. After that, as Dick said, the best Madeira wines were regularly subjected to these sea voyages — they were known as ‘Vines of the round trip”. Later, however, it was found that giving wine a prolonged heating right here in the wine lodges is just as effective. And far more convenient, of course.’

After the
estufa
treatment came a lengthy period of rest for the wine, a year or more in great vats made of prime American oak. ‘They hold ten thousand gallons each,’ Dick said impressively, as they surveyed the double line of squat, tower-like structures in the vaulted warehouse. Here the air was laden with the aroma of ripening wine, and the atmosphere was so hushed and dim that it seemed irreverent to raise one’s voice above a whisper.

And finally, on to the
soleras.

‘This system originally came from the Spaniards, who developed it for their sherry wine trade,’ Dick explained, and he went on to describe the method of blending Madeira wine to ensure uniformity — periodically drawing off wine to be sold from the very oldest casks, and replenishing this stage by stage from casks of progressively younger wine. It was a mysterious process, yet, in reality, so simple.

Marianna was not listening any longer. They were standing at the very spot where, all those years ago, she and Jacinto had said goodbye.

Through the open doorway she saw the little patch of garden, bright with geraniums, and the lemon tree laden with fruit, just as it had been on that other afternoon. Now, the great wine butts were full to the brim, not almost empty as in her father’s last days, and there was much more activity with the workers going busily about their tasks. Which of these
trabalhadores
shouldering the copper jars of wine, she wondered, was the one who had gone by as she and Jacinto stood talking? When the man had passed beyond hearing, she had said defiantly, ‘Why should I not be happy? Married to Mr Penfold, I shall have everything I could possibly wish for.’ Her exact words came back to her like a mocking laugh.

Jacinto was watching her. So he too remembered. She said briskly, ‘Well, that is all we have to show you, I think. But before you leave, Dom Joao, I should like to present you with a bottle of our choicest Sercial. Not one drawn from the
solera,
but a special vintage wine.’

‘I am honoured, Dona Marianna.’

As they walked back to her office the young people were a few steps ahead, talking animatedly. Jacinto whispered, ‘When can I see you again?’

‘Is it wise?’

‘It is inevitable.’

A shiver rippled through her.  ‘Dick thinks you are interested in the possibility of investing money in my business,’ she said. ‘I had to give him some such explanation, because he was asking questions about you.’

‘Then it might be advisable if I do make an investment in Dalby Wines.’

Marianna shook her head. ‘No, I don’t want that. But I thought you should know the situation with Dick.’ She raised her voice and continued, ‘I have it in my mind to arrange a small social gathering quite soon, Dom Joao. If you would care to come, it would enable you to meet people.’

‘How kind of you.’

As she intended, Dick had overheard. He glanced back over his shoulder, asking, ‘Is Lucia invited, too?’

‘But of course. You would be most welcome, my dear.’

Shyly, the girl looked to her father for permission. Jacinto smiled and said gracefully, ‘On behalf of us both,
senhora,
I accept with pleasure. We shall greatly look forward to the occasion.’

When the visitors had departed, Marianna said tentatively to her son, ‘They seem pleasant people, I thought. Do you agree?’

‘I suppose so,’ he conceded with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘Lucia is quite intelligent, for a girl.’

Marianna laughed, relieved that his animosity seemed to be on the wane.

‘Surprising though it may seem to you, Dick, some of we poor females have been blessed with a certain amount of brain power. In our own small way, of course.’

Dick pulled a face, then with a laugh he came and gave her a warm hug. Feeling his strong arms around her, Marianna realized almost with surprise that her son was fast becoming a man.

Marianna still slept in the turret bedroom of her childhood, though there were several grander chambers she might have used. Standing in the pool of lamplight while Linguareira arranged the folds of her ivory satin gown, she looked out through the window that faced the island’s interior. The massed lights of Funchal thinned and grew sparser as the land swept upwards to the mountains, until there was only the occasional faint glimmer from a lonely dwelling in the heights. Then, above the ink- black outline of the peaks, the night sky exploded in a scattering of bright stars. With a sigh she turned towards the other window. A full moon had risen and floated upon the rim of the sea, burnishing it to a sheet of hammered bronze.

‘Don’t fidget!’ Linguareira grumbled. ‘If you won’t keep still, how do you expect me to make you look beautiful for this fine new
senhor
you’ve found yourself? Though what you want with a third one, I can’t imagine. Those two peacocks already strutting round you are one more than any woman in her right senses would have any use for — and both of them married! I hear this new gentleman has a wife, too. I suppose you think that with the poor lady an invalid, you can make as free as you please with her husband.’

‘Oh, the way you keep on and on at me!’ protested Marianna. ‘Why can’t you hold that tongue of yours and see to my dress?’

‘I would if you’d let me. And what’s so very special about this Senhor Carreiro, just tell me that. I’ve never seen you so excited over an admirer before. But this one, you’ve been all of a flurry ever since he first appeared. I suppose he’s very handsome, eh? And there’s a rumour going round that you’re persuading him to invest some money in Dalby Wines. Is that true?’

Linguareira was not going to be put off easily, not now that she had got a sniff of something in the wind. Marianna decided that she would have to take her old
aia
into her confidence.

‘Leave what you’re doing for the moment,’ she said. ‘I have something to tell you. It is a great secret, Linguareira, and you must keep it to yourself. No one must have the least suspicion.’ Her breath came in little gasps. ‘This man, this Senhor Carreiro ... it is
he —
Jacinto. Yes, yes, it’s perfectly true. After all these years, my Jacinto has been brought back to me.’

She stumbled out the bare bones of the story while Linguareira kept exclaiming and muttering to herself, ‘Oh, my goodness me! Oh, the good Lord be praised! What a thing to happen!’ Suddenly she clutched at Marianna’s arm with her great ham of a hand. ‘What are you about, letting your excitement run away with you like this? There might still be danger for him ... terrible danger. And if Clever One is recognized and that stepson of yours gets to hear of it, you might be dragged down with him. Oh
menina,
take care!’

Marianna pressed her face into the vast cushiony bosom where she had found comfort so often in years gone by.

‘Please, please,
Linguareira, rejoice for me.’

‘
Ai, menina,
it’s what you’ve always longed for, I know that well enough. But whether there can ever be happiness for the two of you is another matter.’

‘There must be, there must! He means everything to me—excepting only for Dick. I cannot face the prospect of losing him again.’

* * * *

Only in the past year or two had Marianna spent any money on refurbishing the house in Rua das Murças. Before that, every spare
milreis
had been needed for the purpose of rescuing the estate and the wine lodge from dilapidation. The salon now was almost as grand an apartment as it must have been in the earliest days of the house’s existence, with rich crimson-and-gold wall hangings, and elegant window drapes of Italian brocade. This extravagance was designed to proclaim to all who came here that the firm of Tobias Dalby prospered once more.

Tonight, the light of a hundred candles shed brilliance from the huge chandelier, and banks of geraniums and arums and canna lilies added colour to the scene. Hired men-servants in black tailcoats were there to proffer trays of wine, with savoury tidbits and sweetmeats piled in high pyramids. A quartet in one corner provided music for dancing, and the dancing would give Marianna an opportunity to talk
tête-à-tête
with Jacinto — though she must be at pains not to favour him too markedly. She first took a turn with both Carlos Rapazotte and Augusto da Silva, watched, she knew, by the jealous eyes of their respective wives.

Then at last she was in Jacinto’s arms, spinning into one of the latest waltzes from Vienna.

‘It is incredible to me that no one recognizes you,’ she said breathlessly. ‘To me you look just the same. The beard hides nothing.’ That was not quite true, though, for it concealed the mark of her husband’s whip lash which Jacinto would carry all his life.

He smiled. ‘It is not the beard itself, but the touch of grey
in
the beard that is my disguise. People in Madeira remember me — if they remember me at all — as a callow youth. And just a poor peasant lad, not a wealthy
senhor
in fine attire.’

‘Nevertheless, you must take great care.’

‘I would take any risk to be with you,’ he said. ‘Though dancing with you in public is a poor substitute for being alone with you.’

‘Give me time. I will think of something.’ They were becoming too intense, people might notice. Marianna forced herself to say chattily, loudly, ‘Your daughter seems to be enjoying herself, Dom Joao. I made a point of including some young people in my invitations, so she would have company of her own age.’

‘I am grateful,
senhora.
It is lonely here for the poor child, knowing no one. My wife, too, has asked me to express her gratitude to you. She is very conscious that, owing to her illness, our daughter has led too restricted a life.’ The waltz was coming to an end, and he added quickly, urgently, as if afraid he might not have another chance, ‘I have a great favour to ask of you.’

‘You have only to name it.’

‘Catarina has expressed a wish to meet you.’ Marianna started to protest, but he hurried on, ‘I have spoken to her of your kindness. For me not to mention you would have been suspicious. Lucia’s conversation has been full of you.’

‘What have you told your wife? I mean, about why we have any association at all?’

‘The same as you told your son. It seems to have been spread around Funchal already that I am considering an investment in Dalby Wines.’

‘I see! And she accepts that?’

‘Naturally. My wife is Portuguese by descent. In her mind, business matters are entirely the concern of men. It would never occur to her to express an opinion.’

Marianna felt trapped by events of her own making. ‘All the same, I’m not certain that I can bring myself to meet your wife.’

‘I beg you to reconsider. It would mean so much to her.’

‘Is that why you want me to come — for her sake?’

Jacinto’s glance was a rebuke. ‘Am I so wrong in that? Catarina is a good woman, for whom I have the greatest respect and fondness. It is not her fault that my heart has never been free to give her.’

The waltz ended with a resounding nourish. As he led her from the floor, Marianna said, ‘Very well, I will do as you ask of me.’

* * * *

Marianna rode up to Monte by the Saltos road, with Nuno as escort. He had grown old and fat with the years, long past trotting along behind her pony as in former days, but there was still none better when it came to looking after horses. Today he rode alongside his mistress on a frisky young mare that he was breaking in. Every now and then they paused on the steep, twisting road, to rest their mounts, Marianna choosing spots that afforded the finest views overlooking Funchal. But no view on their journey excelled that from Jacinto’s rented
quinta
when they reached it, a heavenly panorama of town and bay, washed with soft September sunlight. The scent of heliotrope and myrtle filled the quiet afternoon, and the air was deliciously cool at this elevation — a blessed boon to the wracked lungs of an invalid.